


House of Wolves

by LadySmutterella



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Animals, Bandom Bingo 2017, M/M, Rescue, The Glorious Mountains of New Jersey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 05:30:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10655901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySmutterella/pseuds/LadySmutterella
Summary: There's an upper limit to how many wolf cubs any Wildlife Rehabilitation Specialist can be expected to hand rear. Frank passed this number some while ago. Now sleep is a distant memory, clean clothes but a dream, and he's hoping against hope that the handsome guy at the door isn't bringing another cub for him to care for.A story of wolf cubs, misunderstandings, and love set among the beautiful mountains of New Jersey.





	House of Wolves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akamine_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/gifts).



> First there was this gif: https://twitter.com/wild_bullet/status/840557872341704705
> 
> Then there was Aka with a million gifs and videos and ideas about Frank looking after tiny animals with tattooed hands and being sexy and capable.
> 
> There was also the Bandom Bingo and the prompt of rescue from danger. 
> 
> This is 500 words of fluff – it just looks like nearly 7k of angst from the outside. 
> 
> Thank you to Jiksa for the beta reading, Trojie for the hand holding, and Aka because this is all. her. fault.

Not many people know there are mountains in New Jersey. 

This stopped surprising Frank years ago. Most people are dicks. 

Of course there are mountains. Mountains and wilderness and wildlife, and, well... Frank. 

Some are called to become wilderness experts; some are called to work with wildlife. Fucking few of them are called to do so in Jersey. Frank would feel worse about this, except it means that he's not competing with anyone else for his job. 

Mostly he keeps away from other humans, and they keep away from him. He lives in a cabin halfway up one of the more picturesque peaks with only injured wildlife for company, doesn’t speak to anyone with two legs for weeks at a time, and it’s just how he likes it. 

Technically he’s a Wildlife Rehabilitation Specialist, which sounds fancy as fuck until you get to the small print – which essentially describes Frank’s role as a human nanny for all the small, vulnerable things that are abandoned by their pack or parents, and who need a willing idiot to sit up all night making sure they eat and shit and sleep and do whatever else tiny animals have to do to survive. 

Whatever. His eyes are burning, he can’t remember what a bed looks like, and he’s long since passed the point where every item of clothing he owns is covered in puke. 

He wouldn't swap it for the world. 

Anyway, it’s early June and Frank is overrun. Word’s gotten out somehow that he’s the go to guy if you’ve got an orphaned or abandoned wolf cub, and yeah, okay, so his survival rates are nearly 98% which is a fuckload better than anyone else manages, but now he’s got at least a dozen of the little fuckers running around while he tries to a) keep them alive and b) act like a dominant wolf so that they have a chance to be released back into the wild one day. 

What he needs, in no particular order, is some more formula, a meal, another set of hands, some clean clothes, an assistant, and a good night’s sleep. What he gets is…

“Hi.” The guy grins at him from the doorway looking like a model from the sort of _specialized_ magazine that Frank used to favor back when he had the time and energy for that sort of thing. “Are you Frank?”

“Yeah,” Frank says before his brain catches up with his mouth. “Unless you’ve got a wolf cub that needs rehoming because then I’m José, and I’m only here to fix the boiler.” He glares at the guy, worried. “You don’t have a wolf cub, do you?”

“Nah,” the guy says, and Frank gets the impression he’s laughing behind his stupidly beautiful face. Frank would bet _he_ has had more than three hours’ uninterrupted sleep in the last four days. “You’re safe from me, José.” 

“Thank God.” Frank sags against the wall and tries to remember if it’s polite to fall asleep in front of new people. Probably not. “Wait… So why are you here then?”

“Oh.” The guy looks surprised. “I’m a photographer?” He doesn’t sound sure, but he waves something that might well be a camera case, as if that supports his claim. “National Geographic.” 

“That’s… nice?” Frank manages, distracted by the sounds of frantic yapping from the next room. “I… uh…”

“Oh, right.” The guy pulls himself together. “Yeah. I emailed… someone.” He flaps a hand vaguely. “I wanted to document a wolf pack for the magazine, and they told me that you were the person to see.” He grins, looking up at Frank from under his hair. “Well, that is if you’re Frank and not José.” 

“Like I said, that depends on if you’re hiding a wolf cub that you want me to adopt.” 

The guy looks baffled. “But… I don’t. Honest. Where would I even be hiding it?”

“You’d be surprised,” Frank says, darkly, but the guy looks kinda hurt and honestly? He’s too tired to play right now. He holds his hand out. “I’m Frank.”

The guy looks surprisingly grateful as he shakes it. “Gerard,” he says. “And I promise I don’t have a cub for you to adopt.” 

“You’d better come in then.” Frank steps back and gestures into his cabin. “I’d warn you about…” He pauses, considers. “Well… everything. But…” He shrugs. “You’ll see.”

“That’s cool,” the guy – Gerard – says. “I mean, you should see my place…” He pauses, staring at Frank in concern. “Dude. Is your stomach… moving?”

“Oh god.” Frank makes a grab at his stomach and unzips the very top of his hoodie. “Sorry. Otter. This is Harry.”

Gerard’s eyes widen as a small, furry face peers out the top of Frank’s hoodie. 

“You’re an otter, Harry,” he whispers faintly, and Frank just looks at him for a long second before he collapses in hopeless, high-pitched giggles.

It means that Harry escapes, but Frank doubts he’ll get far – he knows where the fish is after all. Anyway, it’s kind of a relief not to be carrying five kilos of injured otter around for the first time in a week. 

“Don’t worry about him,” he tells Gerard, who’s looking worriedly after Harry. “You wanted to meet the pack?”

“The pack?” Gerard blinks in confusion. “Oh. You mean the wolves?” He grins as Frank nods. “That’d be cool, but I guess we’d need to hike, and you know…” He gestures to his Converse. “I’m not really kitted out for hiking right now.”

“Yeah,” Frank snorts. “I’m not gonna drag you up the Jersey peaks today. Just…” He leads the way across the room, wondering absently when the last time he’d tidied up was. March he thinks, maybe. Possibly February. He’s fairly sure it was clean at Christmas at least. 

“You have a wolf pack in your cabin?” Gerard says, laughing as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s heard. He stops as Frank opens the door to the other room. “Shit.”

“I know.” Frank grins at him. “Welcome to my wolf pack.”

They’re not the most impressive pack, Frank is painfully aware of that. Hell, when he was first training, he’d spent months camping out, following a pack in Yellowstone. Those were proud and noble animals, and much less taken with eating sofas than this bunch are. He’s fairly sure that none of them ever got stuck in a bathtub either. 

Gerard’s staring at them, his mouth open, his eyes wide.

“They’re quite something, aren't they?” Frank says. 

Gerard makes an incomprehensible noise. “This isn’t what I thought a wolf pack would look like,” he says at last, sounding slightly stunned.

“Why?” Frank purses his lips, irritated that Gerard’s buying into the stupid media myths about wolves. “Because wolves are merciless killers that would eat you soon as look at you?”

“No!” Gerard stammers, taking a step back, his hands raised in semi-mock surrender. “Because these are _puppies_.”

“Oh.” Frank stares at them. Wolves are noble and wild creatures, so he hasn’t named them. If he _had_ named them, though, then he’d be forced to admit that Fluffbutt, McWhiskers, and Stinkface are having something he hopes is a three-way scrap rather than a rather-too-violent, incestuous threesome. “Yeah. I guess they are.” He frowns at Gerard. “They’re still wolves, though.”

“Yeah,” Gerard agrees. “Course they are. Um… is that one meant to be eating your shoe?”

“What?” Frank looks at him and then down. “Oh, no. Beowolf. We’ve discussed this.” He grabs the cub by its fat little tummy. “Laces aren’t good for you. They’re not food.” The cub licks his face, uncomprehending and uncaring. “I know you like them, but they’ll make you sick.” Beowolf whines, and snuffles at as much of Frank as he can reach. “Idiot pup,” Frank says, kissing him on the nose before he remembers that Gerard is there. “Um…”

He’s ready to defend himself from accusations of being unprofessional or something but Gerard’s got his camera pressed to his face, taking picture after picture of Frank and his idiot cub. 

Frank holds still, not sure what to do, and does his best to stop the cub from wriggling as the camera clicks away. 

“This isn’t what you wanted to see,” he says at last when there’s no sign of Gerard stopping.

“You kidding?” Gerard asks. “This is _gold_.”

Frank raises an eyebrow and Gerard stops, lowering the camera, his cheeks suddenly flaming. 

“I..” He pauses and bites his lip. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just…” He visibly pulls himself together, and smiles hopefully at Frank. “I can get pictures of a real wolf pack later?”

“Real?” Frank can’t stop himself from visibly bristling, and Gerard shakes his head. 

“Adult. I meant adult.” 

“Fine.” Frank sighs. “Whatever you want, provided you don’t make me go hiking today.”

“No.” Gerard shakes his head. “You’re fine, but… could I hang around and take pictures of you and your cubs?”

“You make us sound like some sort of BDSM group,” Frank grumbles, but there’s no heat behind it. “But fine. I guess.” 

“Excellent.” Gerard grins like he’s genuinely happy about this. “So, you should just get on with the things you’d usually do and try to forget I’m here.” 

“Yeah.” Frank scrubs his hand over his face and tries not to wince. What he usually does it a constant stream of feeding, cleaning up shit, and trying to make the little devils go to sleep – if only so he can close his eyes himself. 

Maybe it’s because he’s tired or maybe it’s because he’s so used to the routine by now, but it’s easy to forget Gerard is there. He fills the bottles, sits on the floor and tries to make sure each of the cubs gets a share. Maybe he should try to stop them from chewing on him – especially given there’s company – but they’re teething so it’s a losing battle. He does his best to ignore the tug of war behind him that seems to involve his jumper and hopes against hope that Bigby limits himself to licking his ears. Frank’s never wanted to impersonate Van Gogh and he’s not going to start now. 

He flops on the floor once the bottles are empty. Sometimes if he lies still, the cubs will cuddle in around him and sleep. It’s a high risk strategy but Frank’s ready to do what he has to here. 

The idea he’s not alone doesn’t cross his mind once, not as he splays himself out on the floor, not as he starts singing to the cubs, a steady drone almost under his breath that seems to calm the beasts. 

“Is that _Hungry Like the Wolf_?” Gerard asks, sounding stifled, and Frank’s eyes snap open. 

“Maybe?” he says, frowning at Gerard. “Why? What would you use a lullaby for packs of wolves?”

“Huh,” Gerard says, sounding unsure. “I don’t know.” He chews his lip and Frank waits. “Werewolves of London? A Wolf at the Door? _Cry Wolf_?”

“I’m not singing fucking A-Ha,” Frank snaps, and Gerard turns away in a vain attempt to hide his laughter. 

“How d’you feel about Danzig?” Gerard asks, even though it sounds like he’s fighting to keep his voice under control. 

“Killer Wolf?” Frank asks. “Yeah. Or I guess we could go for Howlin’ for You?”

“Sounds good to me,” Gerard says, squatting down and holding his fingers out to one of the cubs. McWhiskers sniffs him, all fierce concentration and concern, and then, when he seems to deem him worthy, he starts to gnaw on his fingers. Gerard does his best not to wince, but Frank knows from experience how needle-sharp those teeth are, and turns his head to hide his smile in the rough pile of the rug. 

It’s more comfortable than he anticipates. Even the scratchy wool feels comfortable and warm against his face, and Frank doesn’t think it could hurt if he closes his eyes for just a few seconds…

He wakes up an indeterminate time later to noises of quiet distress next to him. He doesn’t even have to look to know what the problem is. 

“Fuck it.” He pushes himself up, moving as smoothly as he can to try and avoid waking up the cubs he can feel sleeping all over his back. “Dief, you know we talked about this.”

There’s the deep rumble of something that sounds a lot like a growl from across the room, and Frank finally manages to turn his head enough to see what’s going on. 

It’s as bad as he suspected. Dief has pinned Gerard to the floor and is drooling over him indiscriminately. Frank can empathize. 

“Off,” he snaps, sitting up, and fortunately Dief listens. He climbs off Gerard, making grumbling noises the whole time and pads over to snuffle at Frank’s head. 

“He’s not a cub,” Gerard says, sounding slightly stunned, which Frank guesses is a direct result of being sat on by 75 kilos of extremely adult wolf. 

“Yeah. I, um, get all sorts of rescue cases?” He’s not sure why he sounds unsure, but Gerard seems to relax, and holds out his hand to Dief. 

“He’s really big.”

“Wolves are,” Frank agrees. “He’s not even the biggest wolf you’d see.” He pauses and thinks about it. “Well, he’s the biggest one _here_ , but in the wild?” Frank scratches his fingers through the thick fur on the top of Dief’s head. “He’s slightly smaller than average.” The wolf looks up at Frank and licks his chops reproachfully. “And you’ll grow. You’ve got a year or two before you’re full grown.”

Dief makes a kind of accepting noise and pads off into the back room. Gerard looks unaccountably upset that he didn’t get to pet him again. 

“He looks pretty big,” Gerard says mournfully. “Are all these guys gonna grow up like that?”

“Yeah,” Frank says carefully. “The ones that make it anyway.”

“They’re not all going to make it?

“I’m going to do my best, but…” Frank shrugs. “The average survival rate for hand reared cubs is usually only around 44%.” He frowns, thinking of some of the less capable organisations he knows. “Sometimes it can be less than 10%.” 

Gerard’s mouth twists and Frank puts his hand on his arm. “Mine do better than that – a lot better… just…” He looks around at the mass of cubs. They’ve started to tire themselves out now and are settling down to sleep – even if he knows that state of affairs won’t last for long. “The chances of them all surviving to Dief’s age are slim, you know?”

“Perils of loving wild animals,” Gerard says sadly. “I remember a lion pack I was tracking in the Kalahari, and man. Those cubs were the cutest. But then their pack was taken over by a new male and, well…” He shrugs, and Frank can imagine the rest. 

“It sucks,” Frank says. “But seriously? You’ve been out in Africa? Dude, I wish I could have done that.” 

It’s easy to get Gerard talking after that and he keeps up a steady flow of conversation as Frank tends to the cubs. 

A couple of them still need antibiotics, and he pulls them from the cuddle pile while Gerard tells him improbable tales about hippos and hyenas and the sun-baked African savannah on long, hot evenings. 

It’s meditative, and Frank is tired enough that he doesn’t pay all that much attention to Gerard’s words. He just listens to the cadence of his voice while Gerard takes picture after picture, usually from a safe space away, but sometimes pressing close so he can focus in on Frank’s fingers in the cub’s fur, like that’s something his readers would every want to see. 

The cubs seem as relaxed as Frank is, and they stay, cuddled together in a pile of soft breaths and even softer fur. 

It’s not often that Frank gets to take advantage of the cubs sleeping for long enough to weigh and measure them, so he does that, lifting them up to check them all over, popping them onto the scales and making a note of their weight. He even gets to clean the gravy off Alphonse’s whiskers – something he’s been meaning to do for a couple of days now. 

He’s so busy that he doesn't notice when Gerard stops talking, but he’s still aware of the sound of Gerard’s camera. Honestly, though, he doesn’t have the energy to spare to think about it. It's only when he’s done that he remembers. 

“You doing okay?” he asks and Gerard lowers his camera, looking slightly dazed. 

“Yeah. I… uh.” He blinks at Frank. “You were great.”

“You got what you need?”

“I think so.” Gerard looks at his camera like he can tell what’s on it by staring at its lens. “I mean, I guess I can come back if I need more?”

“Sure.” Frank nods at him, encouragingly. “You probably need some outdoor shots, or something.”

“God, yes,” Gerard says, looking suddenly shifty. “I mean… I guess I could do the piece on you and your cubs though.”

“What,” Frank says, completely deadpan. 

“You and your cubs!” Gerard gestures excitedly. “You’re just so…”

He flaps his hands as if that explains anything, and Frank frowns. 

“Are you sure?” he asks carefully, picturing the furry orphans that are gonna appear on his doorstep after this. 

“Oh, yeah,” Gerard says, clearly missing the nuances to his tone. “Do you have any idea how you look with these guys?”

Frank hugs the cubs he’s still holding closer to his chest. Somehow he’d forgotten that Gerard’s been shadowing him nearly all day – it feels much longer and much shorter all at once. He wonders what Gerard’s seen, wonders if Gerard’s noticed the looks Frank’s been sneaking when he thought he could get away with it.

“No,” he says, carefully giving away nothing. “I’m just doing my job.”

“Sure you are. But you’re so passionate about it! And so fucking talented.” Gerard shakes his head, lost in some private vision of admiration. “The readers are going to love it.”

Frank shrugs, feeling unaccountably disappointed. He knew that Gerard wasn’t really interested in what he was doing here, but still… 

“Cool,” he says, turning away from Gerard, back to the cubs. “Well, you know where to find me if you need me.” 

—

He’s not really expecting to hear from Gerard again. In fact, he’s prepared himself for it. Between his chronic exhaustion and low key cabin fever, he’s gotten his wires crossed about Gerard’s stupidly pretty face and whether or not he wants to kiss it. It’s just a stupid miscalculation. He doesn’t care – he really doesn’t. 

So the last thing he’s prepared for when he opens the door at 11.23pm at night on a Monday two weeks later is Gerard, his arms behind his back and the shiftiest look Frank’s ever seen on his face. 

“So,” Gerard says. “I’m not sure if you’re gonna be Frank or José here, but…”

He holds out his hands and Frank gasps as he sees the wolf cub in them. It’s smaller than it should be, and Frank’s fairly sure one of its legs is broken by how the cub’s holding it outstretched and the small mewls of pain she’s making. 

“She needs help,” Gerard says, desperately. “And you were the only one I could think of.”

“Yeah.” Frank’s moving without even thinking about it. “Come in… I…”

He breaks off and shepherds Gerard inside, not willing to take the cub until the last moment to save it pain. 

Gerard, to do him justice, follows his lead without question, only putting the cub down finally when they get to Frank’s makeshift treatment room. 

“Can you fix her?” he asks. Frank nods, not bothering to waste his words right now. 

It’s only when he’s given her a mild sedative and worked out what’s happening (broken leg for sure, probably no significant internal injuries, she’s a bit grumpy and sore but he’s the best person to keep her alive) that he relaxes. 

“Can you help me?” he asks, gesturing to the cub’s leg and Gerard nods, looking pathetically grateful that he’s going to have something to do. 

“What do you need me to do?”

“We need to set her leg,” Frank says, and does his best not to smile as Gerard presses in close behind him. 

“Is this going to hurt her?”

“No as much as having a badly mended leg for the rest of her life.” He frowns as he puts his hands on her leg. “Keep hold of her for me?”

Gerard does, and although the cub makes a noise that Frank’s going to be remembering in his sleep for weeks, they do it, and Frank feels the tension ease out of his shoulders as he bandages up her leg. 

“You wanna name her?” he asks when he’s done. 

“Can I?” Gerard takes a step back from the treatment table, and Frank realizes with a shock how shaken Gerard looks. 

“Course you can,” he says, already trying to remember if he has tea and sugar in the cupboard. Almond milk will have to do, but he doubts Gerard will notice the difference. 

“I thought they were wild animals,” Gerard says, the tremor to his voice evident. 

“They are,” Frank says, putting his hand on Gerard’s shoulder and guiding him to the kitchen. “But I have twenty of the little fuckers at this point. We need to be able to tell them apart.”

Gerard perks up after his tea, so Frank brings him back to see the cub. It’s against every protocol he has, but he lets Gerard pet her, looks away when Gerard gets a bit teary eyed over it. 

They carry her back to the safe cages together, and Frank lets Gerard settle her in and ignores the low drone of Gerard’s voice while he gets food and bedding ready for her. 

“So,” he says, when it’s done and they’ve crept out of the room and switched the lights out. “I guess I’ll give you a call to let you know how she’s doing?”

 _If you leave your number this time_ he doesn’t say, but he feels the subtext makes that obvious. 

“What?” Gerard looks at him in confusion. “No. I mean… no. I’ll…” He swallows and his eyes dart around the hallway. “I’ll stay. You’ll need help.” 

There are a million reasons Frank should say no to this – and while insurance might be the first, his own mental health is the most important – but he nods. 

“Sure,” he says, and talks Gerard through the process of bottle feeding. 

—

It takes Gerard about two days to go loopy with sleep deprivation. He’s doing his best to hide it, but he spent ten minutes trying to get coffee from an empty and switched off machine this morning, and he fell asleep on the sofa last night before the opening credits of the episode of _Stranger Things_ they’d been going to watch had even finished. 

Frank feels a vague sense of vindication or triumph about this, even though he’s not sure why any more.

He _is_ sure that he feels jealous when he walks into the downstairs room and finds Gerard curled up asleep around Dief. Dief is wild and doesn’t usually allow that sort of nonsense; Frank is unexpectedly jealous. He stands and stares at them for a good minute and is not sure why. 

“I dunno,” he tells Bob at the bar that night. Bob is the veterinary supplies guy who makes monthly treks up to Frank’s. They’re friends – or as close as Frank gets to friends right now, which is why Frank’s left Gerard to look after the cubs while he makes the most of a chance for a drink. “What does he want from me?”

“Have you asked him?” Bob asks. Frank shoots him a dark look and gets up to get another round. 

“What do _you_ want from him?” Bob asks after two more drinks. 

Frank hides his head in his arms. “I dunno,” he says, even though that’s a lie. He does know – he’s just scared to say it out loud. 

He walks back to the cabin, up the steep dirt road and through the woods. Bob can pick up his truck tomorrow, and Frank doesn't have to worry about that. 

It gives him time to think. 

By the time he gets home, he thinks he’s worked it out. 

He pushes open the door and pauses on the threshold. 

“Hey.” Gerard looks up at him, his smile lighting up his face. About a million cubs (give or take) are milling around his knees. “You have a good evening?”

“Yeah.” Frank steps inside and pushes the door closed behind him. “You?”

“Oh.” Gerard shrugs. “You know.”

Frank nods. He knows. 

“Bigby’s still throwing up,” he says, and does his best not to smile as Gerard tries to turn his head through 180 degrees to see the damage to the back of his jumper. 

“Everywhere,” Gerard says when he’s worked out that he’s a mess. He looks somewhere between frustrated and resigned, and it’s so familiar that Frank feels something twist in his chest.

“It washes out,” he says, like that’s any comfort, and Gerard smiles ruefully. 

“If there’s ever a chance to do laundry again.” 

“Take it off and I’ll put it in for you now,” Frank says, and it’s only after he’s made the offer that he realizes he’s just asked Gerard to get naked.

“Really?” Gerard asks, raising his eyebrow, and now is the time that Frank could say something, could move forward and kiss him, could…

“Sure.” He shrugs. “I need to put on a load of my own anyway.”

Gerard looks at him like he’s confused, and takes a step backwards. 

“Okay. I’ll… uh. Just go and find a t-shirt.”

He’s gone before Frank can respond, the door to the sleeping quarters shutting softly behind him. 

Frank looks down at Bigby, who’s making a spirited attempt to eat the shoe off his foot. 

“Well, shit.” 

—

He doesn’t despair. If raising orphaned cubs has taught him anything, it’s that sometimes success is incremental. Gerard’s still here, they’re talking. That must mean _something_. There’ll be another chance – he’s sure of it. 

He holds on to that comforting belief for the next three days, even though there’s not a chance for them to do anything more than to keep up with the basic chores of animal care. He thinks he might get a chance to talk over breakfast on Wednesday. The cubs are all sleeping off their midnight shenanigans and Frank is feeling surprisingly bright eyed for someone who’d taken the night shift. He blames the coffee.

But Gerard looks distracted when he walks into the kitchen in search of coffee, and Frank bites back all the words he’s been rehearsing since three am in favour of pouring him a mug and putting a pop tart on to toast. 

“I need to head home for a little while,” Gerard says when he’s finished his first mug and has regained the ability to talk like a human. “My brother Mikey texted me to say there was a package for me.”

“Sure,” Frank says, trying not to feel hurt. Of course Gerard has a life outside of him and the cubs – Frank knew that. He’s just been conveniently forgetting about it so he can enjoy their time together. 

He’s used to being on his own – the mountains of New Jersey might be scenic, but they attract drivers and cyclists and hikers (and even those tend to be few and far between) rather than people wanting to move there. But somehow the house feels emptier than he’s used to after Gerard drives off. 

“I know,” he tells McWhiskers, who’s given herself hiccoughs from drinking too fast. “You’re a great big apex predator, yes you are, and Gerard will be… back soon.” He doesn’t say home; this isn’t Gerard’s home, and he needs to remember that. 

In the end it’s hours before Gerard gets back, and when he does, Frank is… well. Busy.

“Are you teaching them how to howl?” Gerard asks, sounding strained. 

“Yes,” Frank says, shortly, because _someone_ has to teach these guys how to howl, and Dief was being unusually stubborn. 

“Ah.” Gerard’s face is straight, but Frank can hear the laughter in his voice. “Is it going well?”

“It’s going,” Frank says, shaking his head at the frankly pathetic noise that Stinkface is managing. “That’s as much as you can ask for sometimes.”

“I can imagine.” Gerard’s smiling, and it’s small and fond. Frank resolutely looks away before he does something stupid, like thinking that Gerard means anything by it. “I tried teaching Mikey how to sing once.”

“Maybe you should try with these guys,” Frank suggests. 

“They can’t be any worse than he was,” Gerard says, grinning, and he sits down on the floor next to Frank, raising his voice in a strangely haunting howl. 

It’s fun – fun _and_ educational for the cubs – and Frank only remembers Gerard’s package (Gerard's _mail_ he tells himself sternly) when they’re sitting down to eat, the cubs enjoying a post feed romp. 

“What was it?” Frank asks. “The package you had to go home for.”

“Oh.” Gerard’s cheeks colour and he looks away. “Yeah.” He pokes his food around his plate and Frank’s heart sinks. “It was a new assignment.”

“A new assignment?” Frank says, trying to sound upbeat or enthusiastic or something other than crushingly disappointed. “That’s… cool. Where is it?”

“South America,” Gerard says. “Tracking the Andean Spectacled Bear.” 

“Sounds fun,” Frank says, meaning anything but. 

“Yeah.” Gerard shrugs. “I’ve wanted to do a shoot on them for a couple of years now…”

“But?” Frank prompts, because there’s obviously a but coming. 

“It’s going to be a long shoot,” Gerard says. “Like six months if it goes well. Longer if it doesn’t.” 

“Oh.” Frank looks at his plate and decides he’s probably not hungry any more. “So when do you have to leave?”

“A couple of days,” Gerard says, and for someone who’s been given an assignment they’ve wanted for years, he doesn’t sound particularly enthusiastic right now. “The end of the week at the latest.”

Frank brings his plate to the sink, scraping the leftovers into the composting tray. “You can’t turn that down,” he says. It’s easier to sound like he means it with his back turned. 

“No,” Gerard says, but he doesn’t sound sure. “Frank…”

“It’s a great opportunity,” Frank says, forcing his mouth into a smile and turning around. It’s best to rip off Band Aids in one quick pull, he’s found, even though it hurts. “So, I guess you’ll need to head off now.” He does his best to ignore the hurt and confusion that’s dawning on Gerard’s face. “I mean, you’ll need to pack and want to spend your last few days with friends.”

“I thought I could…” Gerard starts, and Frank turns away again, feigning a wholly unlikely interest in the dishes. 

“It’s better for the cubs if they don’t get used to you being around,” he says, knowing he’s being mean but not able to stop himself. “You know. If you’re not coming back.”

“But…”

“They don’t understand assignments,” Frank says, and there’s a thread of anger in his voice that he’d hoped to keep hidden. “They learn to rely on you being there for them. They don’t realize that they’re just something that helps your career.”

His back’s turned, but he’s watching Gerard in the reflection in the window, so he catches the moment Gerard reels back like he’s been slapped. 

“If that’s how you feel,” Gerard says and Frank nods, turning around and drying his hands on a dish cloth.

“It is. I don’t have the luxury of getting to walk away. They need me. I need to think about what’s right for them.”

Gerard nods, his lips thin. “Tell yourself that,” he says, standing up. “If it helps.” He stalks off and Frank can hear him clatter around the room he’s claimed as his own, no doubt collecting his stuff together. 

Frank stays where he is; he’s not sure he could move now if he was paid to. 

Given that Gerard’s been there for weeks, it feels like he gets his stuff together magically fast. He’s probably forgotten things everywhere, and Frank can vent his anger on them whenever he trips over them. 

“I’m going,” Gerard says from the kitchen door, and for a second Frank is on the verge of taking a step towards him, telling him to stay until he _has_ to go. “Thank you for your hospitality.” His face is completely shuttered, and Frank nods. 

“No problem,” he says, fighting to keep his voice calm. “Thank you for helping out with the cubs.”

Gerard shrugs awkwardly. “I contributed to the problem.” He looks like he wants to say something else, and Frank holds his breath, but he just picks up his bag and slings it over his shoulder. “The magazine will send you a copy when your issue comes out,” he says, and turns towards the front door. “The proofs went off to print last week.” 

Frank trails after him, a thousand words jammed in his throat and none of them making it as far as his mouth. 

Gerard pauses at the front door, his back turned. “Say goodbye to the cubs for me,” he says, and he sounds as choked up now as Frank feels. 

“You could say that yourself,” Frank manages, but Gerard shakes his head.

“I wouldn’t want to confuse them.” He’s gone before Frank can respond, the sound of his car’s engine loud in the quiet of the mountains. 

Frank stands there, listening until it’s all quiet again, and then a bit longer than that. But there’s no sound of any cars returning, just the wind in the trees and the sound of birds singing. 

—

“You’re right,” he tells Dief that night, several glasses into the bottle of emergency whiskey. “I was stupid.” 

Dief looks at him, and Frank squirms. 

“Human emotions aren’t that easy, okay? I mean…” He reaches out and tangles his fingers in Dief’s fur. “It’s simple for you.”

Dief makes a wuffling noise that clearly expresses his disagreement with this statement, but Frank’s on a roll. 

“No! All you need to do is to find a lady wolf you like and you're sorted. There’s no jobs and language and awkwardness and stupid humans to get in your way.” 

Dief makes a sad noise and puts his head on Frank’s thigh.

“It’s not his fault. He has a career. He’s not stuck here like me.” He pets Dief’s head in response to the warning rumble. “Don’t be stupid. I’m happy here, just…” He sips his whiskey and listens to the night outside the cabin. “I guess I’m lonely.” The words hit him like a shock, but even as he says them he knows they’re true. “I just didn’t realize that until he was around to show me.”

—

The magazine arrives a couple of days later. Frank opens the envelope while he’s drinking his first mug of coffee.

He’s not sure what he’d expected from it. He’d looked up some of Gerard’s pictures online after that first day, and he’s an excellent photographer – Frank knew that. The pictures he’d seen capture the _truth_ of the animals – the truth that Frank knows from working with them, which is a rare skill.

He has no idea how that will translate into the pictures Gerard took of _him_. 

They’re amazing.

Frank’s never thought of himself as _beautiful_ – it’s not a word that would ever occur to him – but looking at himself here well… It might not be such a bad word to use. 

He wants to say that he doesn’t recognise himself – and it is like looking at a stranger – but those are his tattoos, captured as counterpoint to the soft fur of the cubs, his rings as he dexterously fixes the bite Alphonse left on Stinkface’s tail. 

There’s picture after picture of this, each of them forcing Frank to see himself as someone new. _This is what Gerard sees_ he thinks, and shivers. 

In the last picture he’s looking straight at the camera – straight at Gerard – Bigby wriggling in his hands, and there’s something in his eyes that Frank’s not sure he properly understood until now when he can see it from the outside. 

He puts the magazine down, his hands shaking, and stands up.

He’s been so stupid – so stupid and now it’s too late. But he can't stop himself. He has to try at least. 

“Look after the cubs,” he shouts to Dief. “I’ll be back in an hour.” And he will, because it doesn’t matter what he’s realized about himself, he was telling the truth to Gerard. He can’t leave these guys – not for another couple of months at least. 

He opens the front door, fumbling for his car keys… and stops dead in his tracks. 

Gerard is standing there, like he’s not sure if he should knock or not. He’s got a copy of the magazine in his hand and a stupidly hopeful look on his face, and Frank feels like he’s been waiting for this forever. 

He throws himself at Gerard and doesn’t care when Gerard totally fails to catch him and they end up in an ungainly heap on the ground together.

“You came back,” he says, and barely gives Gerard the chance to say _yes_ before he kisses him. 

Whatever fears he had that Gerard might not feel the same way fade into nothing when Gerard kisses him back, enthusiastically and thoroughly. 

Frank knows he should stop, should pull them inside, but Gerard is spread out under him, as desperate and turned on as Frank is himself, and Frank can’t be expected to achieve coherent thought. 

“We should…” he starts, but Gerard grunts and flips him onto his back, climbing on top of him and kissing him like he’s scared Frank’s going to vanish if he lets him go. That’s a fear Frank can get right behind, and he tangles his fingers in Gerard’s hair and kisses him back like his life depends on it. 

God only knows what would happen, but they haven’t been kissing for much longer before Gerard makes a noise like the air has been knocked out of him and pulls back his eyes wide with alarm. Frank, on the other hand, doesn’t even need to look. He knows _exactly_ what’s happening. 

“Bigby,” he warns in his best warning voice. “McWhiskers. _Stinkface_.” He shrugs as the alarm on Gerard’s face softens into understanding. “They missed you, and I forgot to close the door.” 

“Oh.” Gerard’s cheeks are very pink. “ _They_ missed me?” 

“Yeah.” Frank squirms under him and Gerard grins, pinning him to the ground by his wrists. “They wouldn’t shut up about you.”

“Really?” Gerard nuzzles close, nipping Frank on the jaw. “And what did they say?”

“Oh, you know. The usual.” Frank would try to get away, but Gerard’s got him firmly pinned. “How great you are. How much they adore you. How stupid I was for letting you go.” 

“Good thing I came back,” Gerard says, and Frank nods.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Means we can make the most of the last few days before you have to go.” 

“Ah.” Gerard pulls away, kneeling up and dislodging a couple of the more persistent cubs. “About that…”

“What?” Frank sits up and scowls. “Gerard… that was a dream assignment. You’ve wanted to do it for years.”

“And I will,” Gerard says. “In a couple of months. I, uh, told my editor that there were a couple of things I needed to sort out here first.”

“A couple of things?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I brought that cub to you. I can’t just fuck off and leave you to look after her yourself.”

Frank nods. “That’s true,” he says slowly. “Cubs do fare better when they’re in a stable pack structure.”

“Right?” Gerard leans in, taking his hands and helping him up. “So, if I don’t go for a couple of months, it means that when I do, you might be able to come out and visit me for a bit.”

“Like a research posting,” Frank says, slightly breathless. 

Gerard laughs, pleased. “Yeah. And I’ll be done to be back here for the next cub season, so…”

“Calm down,” Frank says, laughing as well, giddy with the feeling in his chest. “It sounds like you’ve got our lives all planned out.”

“What? You mean where I’m an award winning wolf photographer and you’re a world renowned wolf specialist and we write books and raise cubs together?” Gerard shakes his head. “Hadn’t crossed my mind.” 

“Sure,” Frank says, but he’s too happy to sound disbelieving. 

Instead he makes Gerard help him herd the cubs indoors until he can shut out the stunning vista of New Jersey’s majestic peaks. He doesn’t care – Gerard’s leaving a trail of clothes across the floor, uncaring of the cubs who are already doing their best to wreak havoc. Frank trails close behind him, though he waits until his bedroom door is closed before he starts pulling his clothes off. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. 

Gerard flips him onto the bed and kisses him by way of answer. 

“Yeah,” he breathes against Frank’s lips, and Frank’s never pretended to be a good man. He goes where Gerard puts him after that, lets Gerard position him to his satisfaction until they’re panting promises into each other’s mouths, breaking open with every syllable. 

Afterwards they lie together on the bed, limbs tangled and eyes drifting closed. Outside the bedroom door Frank can hear the noise of cubs deconstructing clothes. Gerard will have to spend tomorrow naked, Frank decides and falls asleep, happy and warm with his head against Gerard’s chest.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Puppy Kiss](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10663818) by [johanirae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/johanirae/pseuds/johanirae)
  * [[Podfic] House of Wolves](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13258884) by [DuendeVerde4](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuendeVerde4/pseuds/DuendeVerde4), [LadySmutterella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySmutterella/pseuds/LadySmutterella)




End file.
